


(Not a) Date Night

by andveryginger, Keldae



Series: Deja New [7]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Double Agents, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Meet the Family, RPverse, Spies & Secret Agents, non-canon backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 07:58:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16698499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andveryginger/pseuds/andveryginger, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keldae/pseuds/Keldae
Summary: It absolutely was NOT a date.





	(Not a) Date Night

**Author's Note:**

> Joint effort here, Ginger and Keldae. Takes place approximately 18 months after "Deja New."

**_Kaas City, Dromund Kaas  
3639 BBY | 14 ATC_ **

 

This was absolutely _not_ a date. Reanden stubbornly shook his head as he did his shirt up and ran his fingers through his short dark hair. It was merely dinner out with Mairen. Not a date. A date implied commitment and something more than what he had with her. What he refused to allow to develop. They were just rivals turned colleagues turned friends.  
  
Friends with some very enjoyable benefits, including the dessert planned for after dinner.  
  
But not dating.  
  
The old spy suddenly quirked an eyebrow as he heard the sound of his apartment door opening. Hadn’t he habitually locked it when he’d come home from the Citadel earlier? He quickly checked the security logs -- no, he wasn’t growing old and senile like _certain_ people whose names rhymed with Darien Mel Liblis sometimes claimed. He knew he’d locked it. And Mairen didn’t have a key yet, although she did have the skill to break into his residence if she felt so inclined. Then who the hell --?  
  
“Dad? You home?”  
  
_Oh, shit._ Maybe Reanden was getting old, if he’d forgotten about his prior promise to spend time with his younger son. “Upstairs, Sorand,” he called as he left the ‘fresher and made his way down the hallway. He recognized his son’s footsteps as the teenager scaled the stairs -- when the hell had the twins turned eighteen? Was he actually old enough to have all of his children legally classified as adults across the galaxy? -- and gave the young Sith a smile when he finally came into view. “No more incidents with those two other acolytes, I take it?”  
  
“They tried again. Once.” With precisely none of the dignity that one might have expected of a Sith Apprentice, Sorand flopped down over a couch and draped his long legs over the arm of the sofa. For a moment, Reanden saw his older son on the couch instead -- that had been Korin’s favourite way to sit on a couch since he was four. “I think the one got enough of a lightning hit to actually get the message that I don’t have the time or patience for them. How such imbeciles ever got accepted to the Academy…”  
  
“If alien slaves showing Force Sensitivity are getting recruited, buddy, they’re going to start bringing in complete morons as well.” Reanden gave Sorand’s knee a light nudge. “Is that how they teach you to sit on perfectly good couches in the Academy?”  
  
Sorand groaned and flopped an arm across his face. “Dad, I just had to put up with two morons so stupid I’d sooner have brought a gizka into the Academy instead of them, and had to listen to Uncle Maglion tell me off for not murdering both of them instead of trying for the sneaky diplomatic route. Gimme a break.” That was a typical annoyed teenager speaking, and not a high-born Sith Apprentice.  
  
“Okay, for having to deal with your uncle, I’ll give you a pass on the couch.” Reanden sat in another chair. “Is training going all right, other than that?”  
  
“... I know family honour’s a thing, but do I _have_ to be apprenticed to a complete and utter psychopath?”  
  
“Sorand…”  
  
The teenager sighed. “I know. I’m reasonably sure I’ll get out of this apprenticeship without completely going mad from having to put up with constant ‘grrr murder everyone who sniffs at me wrong’. Why couldn’t Uncle have been a little less… you know, murder-happy?”  
  
“Take that up with your grandmother’s ghost, buddy. I’ve been asking that question since I was twelve.”  
  
“... So back in the Jedi Civil War?”  
  
Reanden scowled as Sorand grinned impishly at him from under the arm. “Brat. It’s not too late for me to take back your birthday present.”  
  
“Aww, come on, Dad! At least it wasn’t another Hyperspace War joke-- ow!” Sorand rubbed the top of his head when Reanden leaned over to swat him. “I’m pretty sure that goes against a bunch of protocol rules for Force-blind people dealing with Sith.”  
  
“Listen, kid, I’ve got embarrassing holos of you as a baby to give me blackmail material for the rest of your natural life, and stories for decades. Or do you want me to remind you of the time when you threw a tantrum and made your brother’s entire model starfighter fleet fly… one direction? Korin was mad about that for an entire _week_.”  
  
Sorand groaned and dropped his arm back over his face. “Anything I did when I was _two_ doesn’t count!”  
  
Reanden chuckled. “Your mother would have had something to say about that…”  
  
That got another groan from the teenager before he suddenly moved his arm and quirked an eyebrow up. “... Uh, Dad, who did you piss off this week?”  
  
“Why would you assume I pissed someone off?”  
  
“Mystical Force-powers. It’s the secret Sith power of Knowing-Parent’s-History-With-Other-People.” Sorand turned his head toward the apartment’s entrance and ignored his father’s scowl. “But why else would you have a Sith who’s not Uncle coming to your apartment unless you irritated them somehow?...”  
  
_… Whoops._

* * *

   
 _This is not a date,_ Mairen thought, smoothing her hand over her skirts one last time as she stepped up to the door. _A date implies romantic interest. We’re just… having dinner, probably discussing work and family and friends, before having incredible, mind-blowing_ dessert. She glanced at her reflection in the nearby window. Tucking a stray strand of hair back into her swept and rolled bangs, she checked her lipstick. _Nevermind that I tried on what was it -- six? -- different dresses before choosing one… or that I took an hour with my hair and makeup… or I’m as nervous as a girl on her first --_  
  
She gave a sharp exhale. _Kriff. It is a date. At least call it for what it is, Mai,_ she scolded herself.  
  
Swallowing back the knot that rose in her throat, she drew a deep breath through her nose, exhaling slowly through her mouth. She may or may not have also drawn slightly on the Force, calming her jittery heartbeat. Once she felt sufficiently composed, she finally reached up and rang the chime.

 

* * *

  
There was only one potential Sith who would be visiting at this time of the evening -- okay, so, maybe there were several possibilities, but considering Sorand hadn’t gone tense with the sense of inbound hostilities, Reanden narrowed the options down to one. And he wasn’t sure if he was excited and pleased to see her, or nervous because he hadn’t been planning on explaining this to his son!  
  
_There’s nothing to explain. She’s a friend. We were meeting up for dinner and work-related discussions. Nothing wrong with that._ Then why were his nerves racing like a teenager’s?  
  
He was already on his feet when the chime rang, and slid the door open. The sight of Mairen having obviously dressed up for their not-a-date made his heart thud within his chest. “Hey,” he said with a smile, for a second unsure of how to address her with his inquisitive teenage son paces away. Mairen was too informal, but it felt wrong to use Lord Bel Iblis…  
  
Sorand answered the question for him seconds later. He’d also gotten up and off his claimed couch when his father went to answer the door, and had followed along on quiet feet, probably curious as to who this mysterious visitor was. The moment he recognized the beautiful Sith in the door, his eyes had widened and he’d straightened up into perfect posture and the appropriate bow an apprentice was to give a ranking Sith. “Lord Bel Iblis,” he said around the bow -- Reanden still noticed the confused and curious look to his son’s eyes and how he was eyeing Mairen, as though trying to figure out her obviously-not-every-day outfit and the noticeable effort put into her makeup and hair, on top of her presence at his father’s place at this time and-- _oh, no._ Reanden saw the moment Sorand’s quick mind put the pieces together and saw the tiny little grin tweak at the Sith’s mouth before he schooled his features back to blankness. _Ahh, kriff. Why must you be so damn smart, son?_  
  
“Well, don’t _you_ clean up well, Agent…” The impish gleam that lit her eyes faded as she finally sensed the presence of another Force user. Her own nerves had certainly clouded her perception! Curiosity radiated off of him, and she could almost feel his gaze as it took in her appearance, and his father’s reaction. The smirk she had intended for the spy dropped to a more neutral, practiced expression. “Ah, I see you have company. Should I come back another time?”  
  
  
It had taken so damn long to find this evening for them to spend together around their busy schedules! Reanden most assuredly did not want to reschedule. “No, no -- come in,” he quickly said, offering her his arm and turning back to his son. A small gesture with his free hand had Sorand approaching, pausing a respectful distance back, still curiously eyeing her. “Mairen, my younger son, Sorand Taerich. He’s apprenticed to my brother, Lord Maglion.” _Poor kid._ “Sorand, you clearly already know Lord Bel Iblis…”  
  
“Only at a distance and by a very good reputation.” Sorand inclined his head, all formally polite Sith Apprentice, despite the lingering traces of excited glee in his dark eyes. Yes, Reanden was going to have a talk with his son later. “It’s an honour to make your acquaintance in person, Lord Bel Iblis.” He paused, looking back and forth between his father and Mairen. “I apologize if I am… interrupting anything.”  
  
That tiny little almost-hidden smirk came from his _mother’s_ side. It absolutely was not from the Taerich side of the gene pool. It _had_ to be the Drallig side. That was Reanden’s story, and he was sticking with it.  
  
“Lord Bel Iblis is so… formal,” Mairen said, sidestepping the inferred question. She darted a glance to Reanden, then looked to Sorand. “I think, perhaps, you should call me ‘Mairen’.” She paused, curling her fingers under his father’s proffered arm. “At least outside of the Citadel, hm?”  
  
Sorand’s eyes widened further before he quickly recovered his composure. “Yes, Lord B- Mairen.” Judging by the slight twitch of eyebrows, Reanden gathered his son wasn’t quite sure how to take this new direction from a ranking Sith to address her informally. It wasn’t doing a damn thing to convince the boy to get that smirk off his face though. Hopefully Mairen didn’t notice it -- maybe it was something Reanden could only see because both of his sons had mastered that look over their childhoods.  
_  
Definitely the Drallig genes._  
  
He was pretty sure he could feel his wife’s ghost raising an incredulous eyebrow somewhere behind him.  
  
If the ghost of Sorand’s mother was there, he wasn’t giving any indications to indicate so. “If you two had, erm… _plans_ for this evening, please don’t let me intrude. I was only over to see if my father was available.” A very graceful liar, that one. If he ever tired of the Sith lifestyle, Reanden would have to get him into Intelligence. “But if he’s obviously busy…”  
  
Reanden caught a small flash of disappointment in his son’s eyes when the teenager inclined his head again. Sorand really had been looking forward to spending time here tonight, if for no other reason than to have a safe ear to complain to about the latest drama in the Sith Sanctum, which Sorand usually got stuck listening to no matter how he tried to hide in the libraries and away from it all (when he wasn’t fending off rival Sith students). He looked to Mairen and shrugged at her as if to say, _I’m fine with him being here._  
  
Even if it would put _dessert_ on hold. And that was a hard thought with the gorgeous outfit Mairen had picked out for the evening. The things a father did for their child…  
  
Mairen squeezed his arm, offering him a soft smile. “Well, I am starving,” she said, allowing a brief flicker in her green-hazel eyes as she looked to him. An impish smile tugged at her mouth. “Since your father seems to be double-booked, maybe we could convince him to impress us with his culinary skills? No reason for us to go hungry.”  
  
Okay, yeah, he’d earned this one. His own fault for double-booking himself like this. He still made a show of thinking about it, up until he caught Sorand’s obviously-hopeful-expression, and shook his head. “Are they still feeding you apprentices gruel?”  
  
“That might be an improvement. I think it’s the only thing Uncle Maglion and I agree on.” Sorand dropped the proper Sith student mask long enough to make a face. “I’m not saying I’d just about kill for real food, but…”  
  
“Kid, I’ve seen the holos of your training sequences. You _could_ very well get away with it.” Reanden smirked and started making his way to the kitchen, still with Mairen on his arm, and gave his son a light, affectionate cuff upside the head. “So tell me, Oh Elevated Apprentice, is it beneath you now to help your old man out with getting a surprise dinner out?”  
  
“That depends on if it’s that steak and root-veg meal that Mom always loved…”  
  
“You’re lucky I’ve got charbote root in the cooler unit already, buddy.” Reanden smiled affectionately as he followed his son into the kitchen and saw the youth start rummaging around in the cooler unit. Teenage boys, it seemed, never changed, even when they were proud students of the Sith Order. “Start working on those while I prep the steaks. Mairen, how do you like yours?”  
  
The redhead released his arm, affectionately smoothing her hand over the back of his head, her fingers trailing over his neck as he stepped into the kitchen. It was a chance she was willing to take, with Sorand’s attention diverted to the refrigerator. “Medium. Anything beyond that is sacrilege,” she replied. “I’ll go choose a nice bottle to open with dinner. Maybe the Alderaanian red?”  
  
“Excellent choice, on both counts.” Reanden grinned to himself as Mairen started rooting around in his well-stocked wine cabinet and tried to resist the urge to shiver from the lingering feeling of her fingers on his neck. He turned back to the steaks, then caught sight of a raised eyebrow and a grin. “What?” he murmured.  
  
“Nothing, Dad.” Sorand smiled, far too innocently. “Nothing at all. She’s nice.”  
  
“Yes, she is.” Reanden pointedly gave his son a nudge to the arm. “And those charbotes aren’t going to prep themselves, buddy.”  
  
Sorand rolled his eyes and turned back to his designated task, but not before Reanden caught that damn smirk again. _Brat_. He shook his head and went back his portion of preparing the meal. He had done this enough with all three of his younger children on Lavisar enough that they had a well-oiled system in place. For a few moments, there was only companionable silence from father and son as they worked.

Surprisingly, Sorand was the one to break the quiet. “You’ve been working with Intelligence for a long while, Lord Mairen?” he asked.  
  
Mairen stepped around Reanden, reaching for the wine glasses in the upper cabinet. Securing three, she then moved back out of the way, grabbing the wine key and corkscrew off the countertop as she went. She noted the compromise the apprentice made in regard to her name and title. “I started as an analyst a year after the first invasion of Corellia,” she replied, opening the bottle. She poured a small amount into a glass and passed it to Reanden for inspection. “Not incredibly dashing or exciting, but work I was well-suited for.”  
  
“And important.” Sorand nodded as he tossed a handful of neatly peeled and chopped root vegetables into a bowl. “People doing your job ensure my father can do his.”  
  
“Indeed,” Reanden agreed as he accepted the offered glass and took a sip. “Yes, that will work perfectly.” He gave Mairen a smile, then returned to work on the steaks. “If you ever got bored of the Academy and training under your uncle, I think you'd do well in that position, son…”  
  
“Yes, but Intelligence analysis isn't as intriguing as ancient history and various Force applications. No offense,” Sorand quickly added with a glance at Mairen.  
  
She chuckled. “None taken.” Lining the three glasses up along the counter, she poured a small amount of the deep red liquid into the generously shaped glasses. “Everyone of us has to find our… niche. What the Force calls us to do.” She corked the bottle and placed it aside. If her gaze slipped surreptitiously toward Reanden as she did so, it was surely a coincidence. “The people it draws into our lives.”  
  
Sorand paused mid-motion and glanced up at Mairen again. Reanden noted the slight furrow to his son's brow as he processed her words. “I haven't heard many other Sith speak of following the will of the Force,” he cautiously said. “Most others to whom I have been introduced think otherwise, that the Force must be bent to their wills.”  
  
Mairen exchanged a glance with Reanden, who only smirked and shook his head, as if to suggest that was _her_ problem. She narrowed her eyes at him, silently promising revenge later before she turned her attention to Sorand. “I was born and raised on Corellia,” she replied, slowly, deliberately, “and trained as a Green Jedi until I was in my majority. I was… chosen for _re-education_ and shown the strength in the Dark side of the Force.” Her lips twitched. “I find, sometimes, that my understanding of the Force differs from that of my colleagues.”  
  
“You're Corellian? A former --” Sorand caught himself mid-word, and glanced at the windows as though to ensure there were no Sith agents lurking in the evening outside before looking back at Mairen. “A former Green Jedi?” Something flashed through his eyes, something that might have made one think of a wild, desperate hope or desire. “My mother… she was another one of the Corellian Jedi, before she married my father. She… she thought of the Force much like you do.” His dinner task completely forgotten, he came around to sit across the counter from Mairen, all wide-eyed and intrigued. Reanden finished prepping the steaks and just took over his son's task. “I've never met anyone else in the Empire who shared the same ideas as her before.”  
  
“I rather imagine not,” she said. “Most of us -- those that survived the initial invasion -- couldn’t or wouldn’t turn.” There was a pause as she took a sip of wine, then stood watching as she swirled it around the bell of her glass. “Others of us saw parallels between ourselves and the Sith and sought to learn as much as we could.”  
  
“I can't say I blame any of you,” Sorand muttered as he commandeered a glass and looked down into the liquid. “I haven't been in active combat, but the stories I've heard…” He shook his head slightly at the wine. “Learning to be like the Sith who attacked your homeworld, trying to find a way to best them or find a weakness… I would have done the same thing.”  
  
_And you're smart enough you could get away with it,_ Reanden thought, but didn't say out loud. The idea of his boy being in such a dangerous situation made him feel sick.  
  
If Sorand sensed his father's sudden unease, he didn't say anything. He looked down into his wine glass for another moment, then looked back up at Mairen with something approaching almost a child like curiosity. “What was it like, growing up among… the Jedi? I've only met two Jedi, and one of them was my mother.”  
  
_Who the kriff was the other one?_ Reanden silently asked as he heated up the stove, minutely quirking an eyebrow at his son.  
  
“It was… well, different than Tython would have been, I suppose.” Her gaze rested on Reanden, but was not focussed on him. She was, instead, focussed on the past. “There’s always been this tension between the Order and the Corellians. Training was a legacy -- passed down from family to family. We married, had kids, defended our homeworld as best we could. We were focussed on _home_ , and all that implies. The Order… focussed on the galaxy; no problem too big. No attachments; no family, except in rare instances.”  
  
She blinked, coming back to herself and turning her attention to Sorand. “They’re very disciplined. Peaceful. Even those who know well how to fight.” There was a rueful tug to the corner of her mouth. “A last resort for them.”  
  
There was a long moment of silence after Mairen finished speaking. Sorand contemplatively gazed down at the countertop, deep in thought. “So if we had lived on Corellia and not Lavisar…”  
  
“You would have been raised as a Green Jedi yourself,” Reanden quietly interjected. “Your mother may have chosen to come back to the Empire with me, but she was never thrilled about having to send you to Korriban. If she'd had her way, you would have gone back to her people.” He couldn't say that they had been coming up with a plan to flee back to Corellia, when they'd had to send Korin away faster than anticipated and she died hiding the secret of where he'd gone…  
  
Sorand didn't say anything for a moment after that. Reanden couldn't sense the Force, but it didn't keep him from getting the impression that his son had regrets over where he'd ended up. “It would have been… interesting to experience Jedi training. The Sith way is… different.” _And not where I would have chosen to be_ went unspoken. Korriban was cruel enough, even to those who weren't quiet and studious and would rather lurk in the shadows, out of sight and mind, and focus on their pursuits in peace and quiet.  
  
Sensing his uneasiness, Mairen shifted closer to Reanden, leaning against his side as she smoothed her hand over the back his neck, fingers trailing through the short scruff of hair. She offered him a warm, gentle smile as she then moved to pull plates and flatware from storage. There had to be something she could do to help the boy, she thought. Moving toward the table, she narrowed her eyes and licked her lips before speaking. “Sorand?” she asked slowly.  
  
The sound of his name drew the teenager out of his quiet musings. He blinked once, drawing himself out of his somber thoughts. “Yes, Lord Mairen?” He asked, straightening on the barstool and giving her his full attention. He seemed to be not paying attention to his father gently shifting his weight to accept her leaning on him, his hand lightly trailing over her hip before returning to work on dinner.  
  
“Do you... “ She paused, giving a long exhale. “Do you spend much time in meditation?”  
  
“Uncle disapproves of such things,” Sorand muttered. Reanden didn’t need the Force to pick up on his son’s displeasure with such things. “ _Apparently_ a proper Sith doesn’t need to spend time dwelling on trivial fluctuations in the Force. Everything is to be in-the-moment without thought given to the past or those far distant.”  
  
“Yes, that is very much the typical Sith way -- focussing on the emotional turmoil of the moment,” Mairen said. She hoped her voice didn’t sound too disaffected. “Meditation is still part of my usual practice. I find it helps with my concentration and connection with the Force.” Her gaze darted toward Reanden, then back to Sorand. “I could… walk you through a few meditation exercises sometime, if you would like?”  
  
Sorand’s eyes flashed wide open, excitement dancing through the dark irises for a second. “That --! Nobody has offered meditating with me since Mum was ki-- since my mother died. I would love that!” He glanced over to Reanden; the spy realized belatedly that he was frowning. “If that’s okay, Dad?”  
  
Such a proposition was dangerous on Dromund Kaas. Reanden wasn’t a Sith, but he knew enough people who claimed the title, and knew that anything even remotely smelling of Jedi tendencies was considered treasonous and worthy of an immediate, painful execution. If he lost his son to a Sith’s madness like he’d lost his wife and nearly lost his older daughter…  
  
But Mairen wasn't an idiot. She was cunning enough to survive among the Sith for as long as she had. And the hope in Sorand’s eyes… Reanden didn’t want to crush that. The youth would have done far better as a Jedi than as a Sith, even if he’d learned to adapt as a child. If he could have any sort of a connection to his mother’s people and their Order, it could be nothing but beneficial for him. It might even give him the edge he needed to survive the rest of his apprenticeship. “I don’t think I need to tell you how dangerous it is to use Jedi-styled meditation here, son,” he slowly said. “I’m not going to tell you ‘no’, but… Be careful, for your old man?”  
  
“You’re not that old, Dad.” Sorand all but bounced in his seat with glee, the pride of a Sith apprentice forgotten in the wake of his excitement. “Thank you!”  
  
The spy had crossed to stand behind her, his hands coming to rest on her waist. She turned, hazel eyes searching his, a thousand silent questions passing between them. Finally, he nodded. “I know ‘Lord Mairen’ will take good care of you,” he said. If his voice was a bit husky, then surely it was their imaginations.  
  
Mairen swallowed. She felt the weight of his concern, the gravity of the situation -- had known what she was offering served as treason. And yet he was trusting her… with his son. “I will,” she promised. Again he nodded, kissed her temple and then moved back to dinner preparation.  
  
Sorand settled back on his barstool and took a sip from his wine glass, his entire posture relaxed in a way it hadn’t been earlier. It was like a weight had fallen from his narrow shoulders. Regardless of Reanden’s lingering apprehension about this entire idea, he still felt gratified to see that smile on his son’s face, an open and contented expression he hadn’t seen in far too long. He’d started to wonder if Korriban and Maglion’s tutelage had all but drained that smile and any hope Sorand might have had from him.  
  
There was another silence, during which the steaks were placed on the stovetop to cook and the root vegetables were tossed and prepped for a brief turn under the broiler. Sorand finally spoke again around the sizzling of the steaks. “So, am I allowed to ask how long this has been ongoing?” Reanden didn’t need to turn around to see the grin on his son’s face, and in fact quite refused to look around so the teenager couldn’t see his father’s sudden absolutely-not-blushing face. _Brat._  
  
The redhead cut an amused glare at the spy, watching as his face turned about as red as her own hair. “Hmm… A year and a half?” she thought aloud, directing her attention back to Sorand. She sipped from her wine glass. “Yes, because it was right after the mission to -- well, our _disagreement_ over terminology.”  
  
“Excuse me, there was exactly zero issue with that terminology,” Reanden interjected from the stove. “It’s not ‘heavy resistance’ until I come out needing three days in a kolto tank.”  
  
“Again,” Sorand muttered under his breath. “No, Lord Mairen’s right, you do need to redefine ‘heavy resistance’ and ‘light resistance’.”  
  
“Whose side are you on?!”  
  
“She’s training me!”  
  
“And I’m feeding you, buddy.” Reanden pointed a pair of tongs menacingly at his unrepentantly-grinning son, then dished up three portions of the meal onto the plates and moved them over to the table. “What was that you were grumbling earlier about the osik they’re feeding you in the Academy?”  
  
“... Good point.” Sorand quickly shook his head. “I’m sure Dad only messes up his terminology every once in a while, Lord Mairen.”  
  
“Brat.”  
  
Mairen watched the exchange with amusement, a slow smirk curling across her lips at the last comment from Sorand. “Oh, it’s a point we revisit frequently,” she said. Turned from her fellow Force-user, she allowed her gaze to roam over Reanden with no small amount of suggestion. She made at least a passing attempt at shielding herself and Reanden as she lowered herself into the chair he held for her. “Turns out your father can be quite… argumentative.”  
  
“My father? Argumentative?” Sorand grinned as he made his way over to another chair, giving Reanden just enough time to return the suggestive gaze, his eyes roaming over Mairen’s body as his hand slowly dragged up her back and over her shoulder before letting go. He was rewarded with a visible shiver. “Clearly we know different people with the same name, then…”  
  
“Shush, you.” Reanden pointed his fork at Sorand’s cheeky grin as he sat down and shook his head. “Definitely your mother’s kid.”  
  
“I thought Mum said the sarcasm was your contribution to the gene pool…”  
  
“And you didn’t know your mum’s first language was sarcasm?”  
  
“Is that the official language of Corellia?”  
  
“One of them.”  
  
Mairen cut into her steak, chewing with a grin as she watched the banter back and forth. The steak and vegetables had been prepared much as she remembered, with just a touch less grease. Her stomach was more than thankful for the delicious sustenance. “He’s not wrong,” she said. “Sarcasm, Smuggler’s Cant, and Olys Corellisi -- Old Corellian -- three languages any proper Corellian is fluent in. Well… mostly improper, now that I think about it.”  
  
“Same difference?” Reanden asked with the precise same cheeky grin that Sorand was wearing. Yes, despite all his claims to the contrary, the teenager hadn’t picked up all his snarky habits from his mother’s side of the gene pool.  
  
He was not surprised, however, when he felt Mairen’s foot make connection with his shin. It wasn’t a hard kick, just enough to get his attention. She was regarding him with a wickedly arched brow. _The things we do for our kids,_ he thought again.  
  
Sorand quickly swallowed the bite of steak he’d had in his mouth before he could choke laughing on it -- apparently he’d sensed just enough of that. Once his mouth was clear, he spoke again. “So, was Mum from the improper side of Corellia or the proper side?”  
  
“... Yes.”  
  
That got a broad grin from the Sithling. “So if I’m half Corellian and can speak sarcasm and… uh, like four words in Old Corellian…”  
  
“I’d say you’re halfway there, kiddo,” she replied, returning the grin.  
  
That got a proud smile from Sorand. He apparently desperately wanted this connection to his mother’s people. “Would you be willing to teach me more?”  
  
Mairen nodded. One request she could fulfill without risking execution, she thought. Aloud she replied, “More than happy to.”

* * *

Mairen was clearing the table when Reanden returned from walking Sorand to the door. She offered him a soft smile, carrying dishes into the kitchen. He met her by the sink and they paused there, leaning up against the counter. “I’m sorry I didn’t discuss the meditation lesson with you first,” she said. “I probably should have.”  
  
He sighed and pressed a kiss into her hair, lingering for a long moment. “I trust you, and him, to not do anything stupid,” he murmured. “And the meditation lessons will be good for him. He hasn’t had that sort of grounding since his mother was killed. But kriff… if someone finds out anyway… I can’t lose him too.”  
  
“If you don’t want me to train him, Reanden…”  
  
“No. Like I said, I trust you.” Reanden wrapped his arms around Mairen’s shoulders and held her closely against his chest. “And you and I both know literally nobody else in Imperial Space would even consider training him like this. Just… stay safe, _both_ of you.”  
  
She nodded against him, arms sliding around his waist. They stood together for a long moment before she drew back and looked at him. “He’ll be stronger for it, you know,” she said. A wry grin tugged at her lips. “Sorand deserves his heritage, what comes naturally to him. And if there’s anything I can do to stick it to that brother of yours, I’m more than happy to do it.”  
  
That earned a smirk from the older spy. “Anything that pisses off Maglion is fine by me. And you’re right -- Sorand’s been eager for anything to connect him to his mother or her people. Unless we can get him to Corellia and the Jedi there, you’re his best shot.” He smiled and brushed a kiss across her forehead. “And there’s nobody else I’d trust more with him.”  
  
Her eyes stung slightly before she blinked it away. Sliding her hands up his back, she diminished any remaining distance between them. “Thank you,” she said quietly. Their lips met tenderly, and they were the last coherent words spoken for some time.


End file.
